by Louise Moss
A blast of cold, frosty air wrapped around him. He had left the forest behind and was moving through a landscape of frozen lakes and mountains on a sled pulled by husky dogs. The cold, the smell of wet fur, the panting of the animals and the noise of the sled sliding through the snow – all was real.
He was at peace. Nothing had changed after all, not really. The world that had seemed so far away…here he was, part of it again. Surely nothing in this future world could really be too bad; it was just a case of adjusting to it.
It had seemed important to know where he was and how the doors opened, but he could not remember why any more.
“Did you enjoy that?”
The scenery had gone and he was back in the Long Room. What had seemed a dismal place before was full of light, people were chatting happily together and smiling, the first smiles he had seen since he had come here.
4
Hagan laid the man with no arms on his laboratory table and prepared a capsule of mescaline sulphate, the active chemical present in Peyote. The American Indians in Primitive times claimed that the plant gave them spiritual insight, but there had been no way of testing the theory as it had no effect on modern man.
The body was in a state of unconsciousness, but the swallow reflex enabled the drug to be administered directly into his mouth. Three minutes later, an alarm sounded. The man was already in crisis. His throat and tongue were swelling fast, his heart beat rapidly and a red rash spread throughout his body. The system should have indicated what drugs were needed to counteract this problem, but it was silent, except to warn of an unusual brain wave pattern and hyperactive hippocampal neurons.
He sent an electric charge through the brain to try to stabilize the system, without success. Working rapidly, he introduced various chemicals into the body, which had little effect. Within minutes the coronary muscles went into spasm, the Primitive’s skin turned blue and the heart ceased beating. The man was dead. Interesting. The experiment had been brief, but would not be wasted.
Many scientists were seeking the source of creation, following a trail that took them beyond Agapia towards the constellations of Xeridemes and the planet Emfoda, where it went cold. They had already established an important connection between the DNA in meteorites and ancient fossilised specimens found on Earth, but Hagan had taken the research further, analysing soil samples that had been collected from Emfoda years ago, before space travel was prohibited in an effort to save the plant. He had discovered that they contained similar DNA to peyote, a substance which had been extracted from plants back in the thirty-second century. His theory, which he hoped to prove soon, was than Man had begun life on Emfoda.
All was quiet over at the clinic. At the start of The Plan, he had made the mistake of keeping the lighting on all the time, but the Primitives’ energy field became rapidly depleted. Now, with only the security lights on in the Primitives’ quarters at night, they were restored to normal levels. The place had a curious feeling, much as it had when he had first entered the vault. There was a gentle rhythm, as if the Primitives were neither alive nor dead.
The monitors showed that on floor ten, Primitive Gerald was walking the corridors on the way to the balcony. He was often awake in the night. It was of concern was that he refused to share a bed with the female. Although these were both signs that the man was of superior stock, more evolved than the others, if he would not cooperate with the plan, before he was eliminated, Hagan would use him for his experiments.
They all, Workers and Superiors alike, welcomed the night. The bright lights of the day caused violent headaches among the Workers, until their masks had been fitted with suitable filters.
Controller One had entered the laboratory and was waiting for permission to speak. Although it was unpleasant to be among the Primitives, no controller hesitated to serve at the clinic, where he had just fifty Workers under his command instead of a hundred, and extra food rations.
Hagan nodded briefly and the man said, “I am concerned about one of the Workers, Baestel.”
“What are your concerns?”
“He’s been complaining about the food rations, saying the Primitives are given more food than they are.”
“The Primitives sleep for eight hours a day, and are given the whole day’s ration in the remaining hours, whereas our food ration is spread over our waking hours, which are longer. The Workers know that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are there any other problems?”
“There is the question of the…the Primitive babies.” His face clouded over and his voice was hesitant. “The Workers fear they will be like their parents.”
Nobody could be absolutely sure what the Primitives’ offspring would be like, but measures were being taken to reduce any risk. The offspring would be removed from the mother as soon as they were born and would be monitored throughout their lives. Hagan made a mental note to increase the strength of the Mind Cleanse drugs and said, “I will address the Workers in three hours’ time, when they are assembled for their mealtime.”
He looked up Baestel’s record. had worked for the past twenty-eight years in a food processing plant in town. Even though every Worker at the plant had an extra food ration, food was discovered missing from the factory. There were rumours that Baestel might have been involved, but nothing could be proved. He continued to work at the plant and there were no further incidents. He had been allocated a companion, Agaia, seventeen years ago, but she had not come with him to the clinic and he had not requested a new allocation.
Remembering his descent into The Abyss not long ago, he was glad that he did not have to appear in front of them in person. The ability of all Superiors to project their image allowed them to appear in the most dangerous situations without risk to themselves.
Standing on the raised dais at the end of the room, he addressed the crowd. “We have been taught that the Primitive time was a bad one in our history, a time of much evil. It was the Primitives’ way of life that led to so much that was wrong. They were led into acts of hatred and violence by their Leaders who kept them homeless and starving, or led them into wars to gain territory. The Leaders did not govern fairly or equally. After the Forty Year War, we became one world. All sources of evil were eradicated, ensuring everyone had a home, food, a companion and entertainment.
“The Primitives present no threat to that stability. They will be kept securely at all times, and when they are of no further use, they will be eliminated.” He paused for breath, wondering whether he was at all convincing, then went on with a stronger argument. “The Leaders have a plan for the good of every man on Earth and must be obeyed without question. Is there any one of you who believes the Leaders would lead us into Evil again?” He waited, even though to speak such a traitorous thought would mean instant death.
He looked along the ranks. As expected, all eyes were averted. Sweeping the back row, he halted momentarily. For a second he had been looking into a pair of piercing blue eyes. Never before had a Worker looked directly at him.
Pulling himself up, he went on, careful that his voice did not reflect the unease he felt. “The offspring will be taken away at birth and their minds cleansed to ensure they do not retain any Primitive patterns. They will be brought up in our ways. The Primitives will retain no influence over them.”
As he left the hall, a low murmur broke out. The Mind Cleanse had already begun, but it had been shown in experiments that in the group of lowest intelligence, Mind Cleanse could have varied results. But it must not fail. There was too much at stake.
Outside the hall, Hagan enquired of Controller One who the man was who had looked at him directly. “That is Baestel,” said the controller, “the man I was telling you about.”
“I will recommend that he is removed.”
There was one more thing he needed to do before he could escape to the comfort of his rooms. He did not know what was considered normal behaviour in a pregnant female and what was not but the system had recorded abnor
mal levels of tiredness and nausea at the start of the pregnancy, which usually disappeared within a few weeks. Of more concern, as the pregnancy progressed, was the report of swollen ankles and sleeplessness and bizarre behaviour. One of the pregnant women had broken off a piece of the table and attempted to eat it.
It was necessary to act, before the plan was put in jeopardy. Hagan explained his concerns to Moderator Tostig, who contacted the only man who could help, Malchus at Proteus Terrestrial. An hour later, Tostig informed Hagan that Malchus had found references to Primitive procreation that referred to the effects of increased levels of chorionic gonadotropin in the pregnant female, which caused the strange behaviour. “I believe that these pregnancies are progressing normally,” Tostig said.
Hagan was relieved. His life as a Superior would be at an end if the plan failed for any reason.
The energy field analysis of the woman due to give birth showed that she was largely content, but the Primitives were unstable creatures. In order to maintain order, they needed to believe they were in a situation that resembled their previous life. Before Tostig left, Hagan suggested that one of the batch of Primitives about to be released from the vault, should play a part in this.
Bertrand wakened to the familiar sight of a hospital ward. Through the gloom of the dimmed light, he could just make out the neat rows of beds lined up against the wall. They all appeared empty, and the only movement was the shuffling of the night porter at the far end of the room, bent over something Bertrand couldn’t see. How long had he been asleep, and why was he here anyway?
A flashback burst into his consciousness: a lovely girl, her chestnut curls gently framing her face, her arched eyebrows set in a frown, struggling to hold back tears. Helen! His skin began to crawl, and he broke into a sweat at the memory. 1992. The wedding plans, the partnership in the North, his mother who needed full time care. Then pain, so bad he knew it was more than indigestion.
He gently prodded his stomach. Nothing hurt. Did he dare to hope that a cure for cancer had been found and he was here, alive, healthy and ready to resume his old life? Surely soon Helen would be here, laughing and smiling and telling him everything was okay.
The porter approached, placing something on top of the locker beside the bed. As he turned away, Bertrand spoke. His voice came out as a whisper, “Just a minute. Can you tell me where I am, when will I see a doctor?”
The man turned, and even in the dim light, his scarred and pockmarked face was visible, lips curled in a sneer. Bertrand cowered, protecting his head, expecting a blow as the man raised his arm. Instead, he turned and shuffled away.
It felt as if his arms and legs were tied to the bed. Nobody came, no Helen, no nurses, no doctors, only the disfigured and silent porter occasionally shuffling around the room. After what was surely several hours, the porter pointed at him to get up and follow. His legs and arms tingled momentarily, then were free of the bonds but he was too weak to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. The porter grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. Holding on to the wall for support, he followed the porter into what was little more than a cupboard, about eight feet square, with nothing in it except a single chair and a man in a white coat.
He sank onto the chair. “Good morning. My name is Hagan,” the man began. You will recall that at the time you were frozen, you were suffering from a disease you called cancer. You will remain in the hospital until your cure is complete. While you are here, there is something we wish you to do for us.”
Hagan’s voice was strained, as if he was recovering from laryngitis, and some of the words were wrong. Frozen sounded more like frisson and disease was pronounced deceased. Someone from Eastern Europe perhaps? And what did he mean by “the disease you called cancer?” If cancer had been eradicated, they were surely well into the future.
Bertrand’s questions tripped over each other in the haste to be heard. Where was he, what year was it, when could he go home?
Hagan held up his hand. “Your questions will be answered but now, you are to look after the many pregnant women here. You are required only to reassure the women, but you will be given anything you need.”
“I’ll need paper and pen to keep records.”
There was a slight hesitation before Hagan said, “That is not something we have here.”
“Well, whatever you use to write with.”
“I am sorry, that is not possible,” Hagan said. With a sudden movement, he was gone from the room.
Bertrand tried to follow, but the door was locked. He broke out into a sweat. What was this place? And why was he needed to reassure the women?
The porter had returned, motioning to him to follow, in the opposite direction from the way they had come.
He led him to a slightly larger room, painted all in white, with a narrow bed, small wooden chest of drawers, a low table and a door on the far side which led out onto a balcony. Beyond the boundary of the hospital, deer grazed on the gentle slopes and bluebells and celandines, a riot of contrasting colour, grew under the trees. The scene was a cliché—but surely this was the view he’d seen when he first arrived at the clinic? He remembered it clearly. He had been very ill then, and the view had given him the strength to go through with his plan to be frozen. He must be close to home and surely Helen would soon be here to explain everything.
The room had two doors. The one that he had just come through with the porter was locked. The other door led to a small consulting room with a chair and a couch.
His first patient was a heavily pregnant woman who introduced herself as Merle. Her eyes were big in her pale face (possibly anaemia), and her mouth was twisted, as if suppressing a scream. She sank onto the couch, shoulders Moving the chair closer to her, he introduced himself. Without even a stethoscope, all he could do was take her pulse—no watch, so he’d have to guess the time—feel the baby and ask questions. She spoke slowly, glancing around as if she feared the room was bugged; perhaps it was. Finally she blurted out, “They’ve told me nothing during these past months, just wired me up to a machine then taken me back upstairs.”
He was not surprised at this news. He had been to an exhibition at Olympia where he’d seen a demonstration of a prototype: patients diagnosed by computer, surgery carried out by remote controlled machines. The company expected the old doctor’s surgery to be a thing of the past in five years’ time. He could have told them it would never work. People didn’t want to talk to a computer, but a friendly face.
“On my floor there’s a couple of hundred people and if you go onto the balcony you can see there’s fifteen floors altogether,” Megan said.
“So there could be three-thousand people here altogether?”
“Yes, and many of the women are pregnant. I expect you’ll be seeing them too.”
So many people in one place. What did it mean? He tried to smile reassuringly but it came out a grimace.
“Do you know what year it is? Will you be staying here until the baby is delivered?” he asked.
Her eyes dulled and she shrank into herself. “Nobody tells us anything. We’re prisoners here.”
After Merle came other women all in different stages of pregnancy but with the same story. Hundreds, or even thousands, were being kept here, unable to go home or even wander the grounds of the hospital, being put in a room with someone of the opposite sex they’d never met.
At some point, a picture came into his mind of rows and rows of laboratory animals that were bred with the sole purpose of carrying out experiments, and he couldn’t shake free of it. He recalled how they’d had shampoo dropped into their eyes, been forced to smoke cigarettes, injected with drugs that gave them seizures…. He could not prevent the thought that seared across his mind: is that how these people of the future saw them? Something to experiment on?
They’d talked about karma in his day, and the thought struck him that maybe nature was getting its own back for the arrogant way they’d torn it apart, destroying trees and wildlife habitats and polluti
ng rivers. No, it could not be, it must not be. They were fellow human beings, he argued with himself, they would not treat him like that. A voice in his head replied solemnly, are you sure they are fellow human beings?
When Merle first woke up in the Recovery Room, she believed herself to be back in the psychiatric hospital. It certainly looked like a hospital, but when she was put in the same room as Adrian, a man she did not know, she began to doubt it. She did not know of any psychiatric unit that would do this; and besides, Adrian had no reason to be in such a place.
When her body began to plump out, she ceased wondering where she was and concentrated on enjoying her pregnancy. She had no worries: she was fed, if not sumptuously then adequately, she was free from domestic chores, and there were no money worries. Occasionally she wondered about those strange creatures with misshapen heads but had learned early on that they left her alone if she did what they asked. There were compensations to her situation, like the new life that was growing inside her.
Adrian was two years older than her at twenty-nine, kind, considerate and intelligent, but he was having difficulty accepting the situation, and often paced around the room, ranting.
“We’re kept here like animals. Like animals kept in a laboratory, to be experimented on.”
“But there’s no sign of that.”
“Not yet, but we don’t know what their plan is. We’re told nothing. I suppose it serves us right. Look at how we treated animals, keeping them locked up. There were some terrible experiments too, all so that we could have some improved shampoo.” It was at these times he would sink into a depression that would last for days.
For several weeks, she had been taken down to the fourth floor by a Bluecoat once a week, where she lay on a hard table while he lowered a piece of machinery roughly onto her and left. She believed it to be a harmless scanning machine and had made the mistake of telling Adrian, who was convinced it was something far more sinister.
The next time the Bluecoat came to take Merle downstairs, Adrian stood towering over him menacingly. He was tall, over six feet, wiry, with strong muscles that had built up during his time as a landscape gardener. Adrian’s lip had curled up at the sight of the deep ruts in the Bluecoat’s sickly skin and his bulbous lips, but he stood his ground.